


Wet Parade

by CravenWyvern



Category: Knock-Knock (Video Game)
Genre: Agender Character, Gen, Hide and Seek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Rain storms do not interfere with the nightly games. Neither The Lodger nor The Guests are bothered with a leaky house.





	

The wind was howling outside. It shook the walls of the house, the structure creaking and groaning as it stood in the storm. Rain seeped through holes in the ceiling, small puddles forming and soaking into carpets and warping wooden flooring.

The Lodger looked out a window, stared out at the complete darkness that lay beyond, drops of water splattering on the glass and leaving trails as the wind pushed them onward. Even with so little light, the faint silhouettes of the trees were moving, bending under the forces of the weather and its air currents. 

They had seen the storm coming, slight changes in wind patterns, increasing humidity levels, changes in air pressure. The clouds on the horizon and taste of rain in the air were more physical signs, but were written down with everything else, a document that held the beginnings of the seasons storms. They had placed that paper on their desk, on top of other, similar documents, neat and orderly. 

After tonight, would those papers be undisturbed? Perhaps not; knowledge of the weather and the severity of the storm may be of interest to those who reside under this houses roof. The Lodger knew it wasn’t anything to worry about, did not match any of the more concerning papers that someone else had written some time ago. Thankfully, those papers, while old, were well taken care off and they had made sure to keep them in a safe place. Such old accounts were helpful, both to gauge the history of the general area and to decide any measures that should be taken if the events ever occur again.

There was a sudden loud knocking, back the way they had came, and The Lodger glanced back quickly before making their way forward, towards a closed door. The candle shook in their hand, a tremor they had no control over shivering over the nerves in their arm, and its light was a faint glow. They did not waste time on lighting the room, the bulb hanging by a few wires from the ceiling and slightly unscrewed; it was to be gentle on the generator, which would not be able to handle this sort of storm if overused. Noting the mark on the doorknob, the smudge of clay covered lips pressed firmly onto the brass handle, The Lodger gingerly opened the door. They were carful to not touch the marks more than necessary; they were put there for a reason, and should not be disturbed, and their mindfulness made sure that the kiss was not rubbed away.

The room beyond was dark, the window an outlet to the dark forest, and The Lodger raised their candle to try and see their surroundings, to find safe places to set their feet.

The paint lit up under the candles soft light, hand and feet prints laid out in a trail to the walls and then up the ceiling, a mosaic of white markings. The pictures on the walls were childish, stick figure scribbles and tall houses surrounded by sketched out trees. Of better times, perhaps, and The Lodger turned their gaze away from such depictions, thoughts elsewhere.

The blanket in the corner made them pause, a pair of abandoned slippers set neatly next to it. It took a moment, some foreign cloud of blankness settled easily over them, before a sharp tapping in the walls woke them up. A slippery sound, of wet hands and a dragging, sodden body, echoed, somewhere further away, following them, a sudden intake of breath next to their ear. It was warning enough, and The Lodger moved on, past the dirty blanket and the forgotten slippers. An old thought bothered them, because somebody was supposed to have cleaned those sheets, it had been an explicit exclamation at the time. Shaking their head, deciding to clean it up themselves later, the next door was wide open and they passed through quickly.

This time they went directly to the dark lightbulb. Reaching up, standing on the tips of their toes, The Lodger carefully screwed the bulb in place. After a moment, it flickered and light filled the small, empty room.

Blinking, a little foggy for a second, The Lodger had to shake the mist away and found the large stuffed bat head hung up in the correct place. Papers, posters, important information was indeed still on the walls, not missing at all. The drawer was in the right place as well, small and compact, laden with papers and jars and writing utensils. The flash of an empty room was gone, replaced with the right structure and not at all incorrect. The Lodger felt clear now, not at all misty or sluggish minded, because this was correct and they had not truly seen an empty room at all. That had just been sleepiness; they were still half-asleep, after all.

The slap of dripping hands was louder now, the sound closer and closer. The Seeker was coming, having already counted to ten.

Quickly they turned off the light, a firm pull on the hanging switch, and carefully, to avoid knocking over objects or make a mess, The Lodger pushed the drawer slightly away from the wall. It wasn't too difficult, the furniture only making a muffled whine in protest, and they easily sat themselves behind it.

They blew out the candle, a short puff of air, and the small stream of smoke from it was all it gave, a brief breeze of burning scent before dissipating. Setting the metal holder onto the ground, The Lodger took a few deep breaths of air, staring out into the darkness. The room had no window, the pitch blackness absolute.

The slap of hands and clawing pull of a heavy body was suddenly very close, a dragging thud into the room, something knocking heavily on a far away door, and The Lodger covered their eyes with their hands hurriedly, pushing their palms firmly, the static behind their eyelids folding out and over as their breath grew short and fast. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint sounds of the rain and wind outside, the smell of mud and rot thick in the air, some sort of drowned decay and suffocating presence wavering in the room.

“I want to see you. Where are you?”

Fingers dragged on the walls, the ceiling groaning under the storms fury outside, a steady drip, drip, drip as water fell to the carpet and thudded quietly into fabric. The wet sounds moved about, searching, The Lodger still and seeing nothing, thinking of nothing at all, hiding.

“Are you still here?”

The sounds were unsteady, thick and sloppy smacking, something that hung slobbering in the air, dulled and wet as it waited, searching and looking. It crept closer, a reaching hand and twisting fingers, seeking warmth and touch and satisfaction, before-

The sound of something rolling away echoed, loud from the previous room, some glass object bumping into the wall. The house groaned and a roll of thunder swelled overhead, the timbers of the house shivering slightly. Another sound, noises of tearing away and quick crumbling, before the wet slapping of hands started again, turned back and away, dragging itself to another part of the house.

“It's not scary. Not at all.”

This was loud, a bout of emotional gasping, but it pulled away with the wet hands, dragged from invisible lips, bloated and soaked through.

The Lodger waited a little more, feeling the tug of time backwards, the breath pulled in strands from their lungs, a twist of their heartbeat as the ticking of the clock rushed away, back to the beginning, and finally, finally, they pushed themselves up, out of their hiding spot. Their limbs creaked, a sore ache from the position they had been holding, and they scooped up their candle holder as they straightened their back. The crack was loud, a sharp pinch of pain before a twinge of relief, and they shuffled to the lightbulb once more, blinking tiredly out at the darkness and waving hands about to find the switch. Tugging it once, the flash of light blindingly bright, they had to pause to get adjusted, rubbing their eyes to see again. Once the room was clear and lighted, the faint scent of deep mud and old bone permeating the air, they turned to the wooden drawer and rummaged about in the front pocket, turning over old paper and broken writing utensils, bits of crayon and stick dolls tied with old twine pushed aside to find…

Ah, matches. Only a few left here, but The Lodger was sure more were to be found elsewhere in the house. Couldn’t play properly if one couldn’t see.

The box was still useable, and it only took a moment for the candle to be relit once more. Putting the matches back, The Lodger surveyed the room one more time.

A few of the papers that had been on the drawer and on the walls were now on the floor, wet fingerprints covering them. A few looked crumbled, drops like tears peppering the surface, while others looked like they had been held carefully, only the edges slightly damp. The Lodger would have to clean them up, but later. Now was not the time for cleaning or organizing.

The prints on the walls, darkened with dampness and dripping slightly, were going to be harder to clean. They moved first this way and then that, tugged about and dragged around, marking the wallpaper. Some parts were ripped, tearing fingernails, the blue patterned paper shredded and hanging limply from its original placing. Another mess, something to be filed away for later.

Raising the candle up and flicking the light off once more, they started off again, forward to the next room. The night was still young, and the game would not end until morning.


End file.
